


Underwear Earthquakes

by FancyLadySnackCakes



Series: LowRes [15]
Category: Watch Dogs (Video Games)
Genre: Exhibitionism, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Sex Toys Under Clothing, Teasing, hidden vibrators, wrench either jerked off a lot prior to this or slipped some anti boner pill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-14 04:38:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14128245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyLadySnackCakes/pseuds/FancyLadySnackCakes
Summary: Anonymous_one asked: Could you write another Wrench and Low fic?? I love them so much, you write so well <3<3<3<3 maybe wrench teasing low till she begs for him to fuck her idk ;;w;;Anonymous_two asked: I read a wrench x reader fic where they were doing the "do" and they told each other lists of what they wanted to do to each other. On the readers list, they say they wanted Wrench to make/ bug a small device that she can wear. Wrench would be able to control said device from his phone anytime, anywhere. (Like a small vibrator). This is my lemon request.I'm sorry to be so specific 0///0A/N: Thanks for the fun requests you two. I couldn't wait to get back to writing after I finished all those work deadlines (fuck festivals that happen around the same time) and it was so hard to choose what awesome stuff I wanted to write first. Have this one for now and know that more is coming soon! Thanks!





	Underwear Earthquakes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anonymous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymous/gifts).



Sitara’s smirking, and despite the mild weather, you’re sweating like the sun is farting solar flares right down on San Francisco. 

 

Flustered, horned up and nervous, you fold your arms around your stomach for the third time, not knowing what to do with your hands but can’t get away with them at your sides because everytime a pulsating wave passes inside your underwear, your shoulders jump and fingers twitch. Any more moving around needlessly is going to give Sitara more curiosity fuel. 

 

Right now it’s all about keeping this shit on the down low… pun intended you guess miserably. 

 

The beating vibrations hit a high point again, rhythmic. You clench your arms tight enough to hurt - back hunched slightly - while trying to keep a straight face as the sun shines in your eyes.

 

The painted smile on Sitara’s face says she knows something's up, but you’ve been dropping hints that it's periods cramps and not… well, not the flat vibrator Wrench currently has the signal to - a little device that’s stuck in your boyshorts, hidden under a skater dress and nothing else. 

 

You let out a heavy breath, throw Sitara a fake look of pain topped with a burdensome smile; selling it. A little voice in your head says you’re not fooling anyone, let alone someone as perceptive as her but that could be the paranoia talking.  

 

Another minute goes by, sweat staining the cotton dress collar. A sudden spike in the vibrator's intensity makes you lean into a moan that you craftily turn into a coughing fit. The little humming noise sounds like a jackhammer in your ears, and you almost die a bit inside when Sitara crosses her ankle boots and sighs in your general direction. 

 

“How much do you wanna bet that Cyber Child and Marcus couldn’t even get the car to start? I mean, it’s just a truck. What’s taking them so long?”

 

You sigh with relief - okay, so she’s none the wiser.

 

For now at least...

 

In your dress pocket your phone chimes with a text. You don’t have to pull it out to know who it is because almost immediately after the humming dies a slow death against your cunt. Looking around the alleyway, ignoring the spot you’d fingered Wrench, the phone goes off again with another text. 

 

You rub at your throat tellingly, “I uh-dunno… what did you say again?”

 

“The guys,” Sitara says, cutting those green eyes to the alley and gesturing far beyond into the rest of the city, “they said three on the dot, and it’s over half past that. I mean, it's a floor model. We could have hacked this in under ten minutes I assure you.”

 

“Josh’s ace at that stuff… and Marcus knows how to commit grand theft pretty well,” you tell her. It sounds good enough, but now yours and Wrench’s alley spot is calling to you like some devil’s advocate and fuck-

 

Your phone chimes once again and the vibrator resurrects with a vengeance. Teeth in your tongue and a fist in the buttoned slack at your stomach, you breathe silently through an open mouth until it falls back to a tolerable level. Wrench is cackling like mad somewhere within hearing distance of both Josh and Marcus - you know it, and he’s doing it while fiddling with the settings and…

 

“... shit,” you stutter, feeling your knees go to jelly as another long, gratifying fluctuation hits you hard. 

 

Control turned up red. 

 

Eleven on a one-to-ten scale.

 

Your phone rings with a legit phone call. When you finally answer it, Wrench’s maddening giggles are the last thing you need right now. 

 

“T-minus zero hours,” he says, and the vibrator dies, “seven minutes,” it hums against your clit like a robot bumblebee, “eight seconds-” the settings go up another notch. 

 

“Wre-“ you stutter; lips parted and wet and body starting to tense for an incoming orgasm when he cuts you off and shouts. “-and fifty-nine milliseconds!!!”

 

The device skips right past level ten and vibrates so fast it might as well have transcended time and space - the fucking thing is utterly soundless, almost motionless. 

 

Sitara frowns, tapping her heel and does that bored sigh again, “Whatever they’re doing, they need to hurry it up. Tell Wrench to stop fucking around and speed. It. Up!”

 

“God, no,” you groan into the phone, “Stop it…” 

 

Tears start stinging your eyes - flooding your lashes - and it’s so good it hurts. Endless stimulation, almost as smooth as it is overwhelming, guts you. The pleasure takes your breath away. “... please.”

 

“Wouldn’t wanna cash in early I guess,” he mumbles across the line. 

 

In the background static, you can hear Marcus and Josh talking but can’t begin to defrag their words. There’s a crackle on the other end, and it’s clear when Wrench chuckles that he’s been panting behind the mask.

 

The vibrations lighten up; your heart still pounding and he continues, “... besides, I mean, technically… that was admitting defeat, but I’m gonna let it slide because I love the way you-” his tone drops low and B-movie-esque “-tremble in fear!”

 

Ugh, you wince as a little leftover shiver snakes up your belly. Unable to move without worrying that the slightest friction will make you collapse in a quivering mess of pleasure, you take a wet breath and tell him quite throatily, “Sitara says to quit fucking around… also, between you and me and this… so-called defeat admittance… do your fucking worst.”

 

You hang up on his ass just as the phone crackles with his responding, giddy laughter. The vibrations you expect him to unleash upon you don’t come, but that only means Wrench is more focused on this whole denial kink rather than seeing you have an orgasm in front of everyone. You’re not sure which is more terrifying. 

 

“Did you ever get him back for forgetting Valentine’s Day?”

 

You manage a nod even though… no, you have not gotten him back, and somehow Wrench spacing on a holiday you only slightly gave a shit about has turned into the predicament you’re in now. The memory is still a bit hazy.

 

It finally hits you while scrolling through the several ignored Wrench texts, that agreeing to something that involved his sex drive, engineering skills, and anything technically illegal, was going to spell equal parts doom and wonderous. 

 

_ ‘Testing this puppy out. How’s that one work for you?’ _

 

_ ‘Tooooo good???? Naw. Too vanilla.’ _

 

_ ‘Hey. How about this? VROOOOOOOM! Vroom!’ _

 

_ ‘Are you ignoring me?’ _

 

That was probably about the time he turned the power up on mini earthquakes...

 

_ ‘Ha! IGNORE THIS!!!!!!’ _

 

_ ‘Cold shoulder, eh?’ _

 

You make a face that Sitara laughs at and shove your phone back in your dress pocket. 

 

Letting Wrench have dibs on makeup V-Day was supposed to mean a semi-date with felonies for dessert or softcore anal to one of Marcus' funky music playlists, not something that involved two weeks of Wrench doing intense research on the most silent and powerful remote-controlled vibrator on the market. Not even mentioning the two days the butt fuck spent tweaking it before it was time for him to celebrate his way. You don’t think you’ll ever banish the image of Wrench trying on a pair of boy short panties that were meant to hold the little powerhouse against your cunt all day long. Although, he had looked pretty good in the black cotton wedge up his ass. Not to mention… dick for days...

 

You recall the way he’d smack his own ass just to get a laugh out of you and can’t stop smiling despite yourself. Whatever happens today is going to end in an orgasm, and that makes the idea of your future suffering more bearable.

 

Tapping on her phone, Sitara says something about how she got an ex-boyfriend back for forgetting the stupid corporate holiday by filling his tailpipe with stress ball hearts and glitter. It may or may not have ruined the guy's car and gotten him a ticket for setting a public bench on fire via flaming exhaust fumes. 

 

It makes sense that he’s an ex now...

 

“That’s some next level revenge,” you say cautiously, worried Wrench might have bugged your phone - worried he’s lying in wait for when you’re in mid-sentence to fire up the fuck machine again.

 

Sitara purses her lips, “Hopefully, that was the last time he ever got smashed, fucked some girl the night before and slept through Valentine's day.”

 

You laugh; sounding like someone has a gun to the back of your head and scratch at your wrist brace like it’s a nervous tick. 

 

“Remind me not to piss you off.”

 

“Likewise,” she says with a puffy smirk, “I bet whatever you did to Wrench was one for the books.”

 

“Yea,” it sounds unconvincing, but her smile doesn’t waver which just makes you even more nervous. So far, fluids are slicking your inner thighs together, and the thought of punishing Wrench is only urging more to flow forth. 

 

“Well, looky here," Sitara whispers, "It’s about fucking time.”

 

“Come on. Calvary’s arrived,” she announces as the distinct sound of a topline muffler echoes down the alleyway. Out the backdoor behind you and Sitara, Ray shuffles on his flip-flops with Giga_Bite padding along the concrete beside him. If anything would bring a genuine smile to your face, it’s your new puppy.

 

Ray T-Bone gives the dog a raised eyebrow and passes you the leash, standing to the side with his arms crossed. The old geezer offers Sitara nod as the truck pulls into view. 

 

Sitara throws you a sly look, one that’s devious instead of knowing, and pockets her phone before stepping out into the sunshine where the four-door truck - probably stolen - comes to a halt. The subtle odor of cinnamon hits your nose and Giga_Bite yips several times at the scene before rolling on his back to itch himself in the rough concrete; pink tongue hanging out his mouth. He’s so fucking cute it hurts to look at him sometimes, and the little black spiked collar Wrench gave him just further makes your heart go pitter-patter.

 

Like a secret agent, one of the windows rolls down like smooth black ice, exposing Wrench with his spiked chin on a fist and double carets pointed at you and the puppy. With the leash hand, you flip him the bird and smack your lips at him until the LED display goes all lovey-dovey. 

 

It’s only when Wrench makes that electronic noise of doom and raises his phone with the visible vibrator settings that your tune changes.

 

“... that fucker,” you whisper. 

 

Ray looks over at you - dreads slipping over his shoulders - and snorts, “Trouble in paradise already?” 

 

He tries to sound uninterested, but you can tell he secretly relishes any drama that surrounds Wrench. The two of them have one of the weirdest frenemy relationships you’ve ever witnessed.

 

“Ugh, no,” you respond, “more like I’m gonna spank the ever-loving shit out of him later.”

 

“Well, I could have lived without that visual,” he replies casually, swaying on his ankles in the breeze. “You’re welcome for walking the fleabag by the way.”

 

“He didn’t piss on your foot again did he?”

 

“No... but he ate my last french fry this morning and that shit just ain't right.”

 

You smirk, enjoying Ray’s antics as much as Giga_Bite enjoyed that french fry and take even more satisfaction at the sight of Wrench staring Ray down with underscores and quick blinking mad slashes. Someone doesn't like you paying more attention to the Greasy Santa than him.

 

The passenger side door kicks open with a bang, exposing Wrench’s chuck sole as he hops out onto the cement only to superhero pose; pocketing his phone with the pat of his hand. Like Pavlov's dog, you brace yourself for the hum, but it doesn’t come. Double-carets blink obnoxiously and then, right on time, that tilde-caret wink brings a little smile to your lips. There’s no way he’d turn this thing on with Ray standing beside you. For now, you’re safe.

 

With a straight, pink face, you hold in a stale moan and bend down to pick up Giga_Bite as he wiggles into your arms. The knitted bone in your wrist aches a bit, but for the most part, it’s healed. 

 

The truck bed is laden with two dirt bikes and one electric green ATV. There’s a detailed DedSec lollipop stenciled on it just like Sitara described earlier, making the thing glimmer under the sun. There’s no denying it, it’s pretty fucking sweet as far as off-roading goes, but it’s hard to appreciate anything as Wrench kicks a heel up on the truck side step and studies you with double x’s. Just the way he carries himself gets you going most times.

 

“Lookin’ good, Sitara,” Ray compliments. 

 

“Yeah. It’s gonna look even better passing Marcus and his ‘buddies’ on the dunes tonight. I’ve got a bet to win and some nasty promises to keep.”

 

There’s so much hidden meaning in her words that you set a mental reminder to grill her about Marcus later, but this isn’t the time and place for ‘twenty questions.’ Besides, all you really want is for Wrench to get bored of his little game as fast as humanly possible so he can jerk this vibrator out of your underwear and fuck you so stupid you can’t do code without writing the word dick/Wrench after every executable. 

 

Right here on the garage floor is fine at this point. Wrench could hand Ray the leash and throw you down on the concrete with all it’s many metal shavings and exploded debris and cock hammer you into oblivion.

 

It’s only because you can’t think outside of dick and fucking and nasty, sweaty grinding in the closest private alcove that you don’t notice Josh walking around the side of the truck with a bag of those cookies from the new bakery, but the reek of cinnamon is enough to make your stomach grumble.

 

The rest of the gang - Horatio and Marcus - flood out the truck but you're stuck frozen with a puppy licking your bare arm as you watch Wrench tap the edges of his phone in his pocket, turning the device on as if he's bypassed the volume buttons to interact with the vibrator. It's a bit beyond your limited engineering skills, but well within the realm of possibilities for Wrench.

 

Gentle vibrations make a cold sweat bead on your forehead - makes your tongue swell between your teeth and just before you accept that this is happening and you might actually end up cumming in front of everyone, Wrench rubs a middle finger over the denim and turns it off through his jeans. 

 

The vibrator falls silent. 

 

“Can I hold him?” Josh appears as if out of thin air, and you jump; cheeks running as hot a sunburn. Giga_Bite barks, gnawing on your wrist brace and Josh smiles softly before shoving the last bite of aromatic cookie in his mouth.

 

“Sh-sure,” you stutter, smiling as Josh hugs the puppy and folds the leash around his neck like a scarf, letting puppy teeth poke gently around his pointer finger. It’s cute, and you’re thankful that everyone likes him as much as you do… also… it would have been challenging to juggle the threat of constant climax while making sure he didn’t piss on Ray again... or anyone else that smelt like Cheetos...

 

Wrench snickers behind the mask. His fingers spear down in his pocket - knuckles and tendons bulging under black ink - while his thumb rubs the sidewall like he’s about to blow up the world. Without warning, Sitara’s breath hits your face, and her arm is dragging you into a side hug.

 

“Come on,” she coos, poking your hot cheek with a purple-painted nail and gives you a toothy smile, “Let your petals open, LowRes. Go HighDef for me tonight. I need some female support for this testosterone fest.”

 

You can’t even begin to deconstruct her words and how you’re already pretty open… not to mention wet as fuck.

 

“You are barking up the wrong tree if you’re looking for a cheerleader,” you say, only half aware of your words as Wrench cocks his head to the side; watching you from the truck.

 

While being there for Sitara is all well and good, and you’d do anything for her, you’ve decided to go through with this for one BIG reason. You want to keep a brave face for as long as possible while Wrench deals you his worst. He’s got a bit of an ego despite the shy man hiding under the mask, and it runs on a leaky tank. The Wrench Tank needed refilling, and this was gonna do it for him, but you weren’t gonna go down easy.

 

Sitara turns, mouth close to your ear and whispers, “... just put Wrench in his place and I’ll be happy.”

 

Wrench twiddles his fingers at you with digital happiness, unaware of Sitara's hushed demand and your slight shiver that has nothing to do with him for once. He crosses his tattooed forearms loosely over his stomach with a few long fingers hovering close to the detonation button and gives you a tilde-caret wink. 

 

You turn to Sitara, swallow down a lump in your throat and give her a wide-eyed look. 

 

She fucking knows...

 

“Two hours tops!” She shouts, side-hugging you until your chucks skid the floor and the vibrator shifts smoothly inside your underwear, sending dense waves of bliss up your insides.

 

Fuck me, you think, trying to process the sudden realization that Sitara fucking knows what’s going down right now. 

 

“Two hours to send Ebony Hipster under four feet of grade-A California sand! - and maybe an hour to celebrate while Wrench realizes his best friend's been beaten by a girl.” 

 

“Hey,” Wrench growls in amusement, “It’s  _ The Dark Stranger, _ not Ebony Hipster and I’m waaaaaay too progressive to get all buttshamed over Wonder Woman beating up Superman.”

 

“He’s right. He’s quite progressive,” you comment slyly as Wrench turns devious mad slashes on you.

 

Marcus appears from around the truck, raises his arms with a smile that says 'behold, your ride is here!' and jogs up to the two of you with the ATV keys. Sitara snatches them up with a look that reeks of sexual tension, and Marcus just smiles wider, looking smitten.

 

Yeah, you definitely need to bring up this 'shared look' at some point soon. If these two are having some sexy secret shenanigans, you wanna know so you can tell Wrench ‘I told you so.’

 

Sitara fist bumps Marcus, “You brought the cocktails I presume?”

 

“Winner cocktails. Which, of course, Wrench and I will be downin’ while you and Low enjoy some warm beers.”

 

She scoffs, “Surrrre. I hope you got lots of ice because when I win, I’ll be wicked pissed if they’re not chilled to pur'fection.” 

 

Damn. The unresolved sexual tension between these two is almost as bad as the actual sexual tension Wrench had created between your thighs...

 

You exhale hard through your nose, sink your teeth into your tongue and nod when Sitara hums against you for agreement. Cocktails. Cock, your brain subtracts. Jesus, fuck. No.

 

Wrench sees the look on your face - sees where your mind has gone and turns the vibrator back on at half intensity, making you blanch and cough to cover a moan.

 

You can’t handle it. 

 

You’re so fucked, you think, but then Wrench makes a thin sound in his throat, catching your attention despite the humming pleasure. Black anarchy ink bounces over his Adam's apple as he swallows, proving this situation might be too much even for him; sitting as he is in the pilot seat so to speak. The display gives you a small dose of resolve. If he’s nearing the end of his rope too, then that changes everything.

 

Yeah, this is fine. 

 

All is well, and you have totally got this. As long as Wrench is suffering half as much as you are, you can handle the rest of the evening. Somehow, you’ll manage.

 

In your underwear, right up along your folds and swollen clit, the vibrator tumbles steadily. 

 

It’s nearly four in the afternoon which means you’ve only got… fuck, eight hours until you can rip this thing off and hightail him and his stupid fat dick with the warm metal piercing and those thick winding veins, and fuck him senseless. Just eight hours until it’s fair game to rip his jeans off and plunge yourself in his lap until this pent-up feeling is finally fucked out of you. 

 

For now, though... it’s Lenni and her shithead group of Prime_Eight assholes you try to focus on to keep yourself from falling off the deep end. Anything that garners disgust will work. They did just attempt a cyber attack on DedSec servers, funded by Sons of Ragnarok drug money, so they’re pretty high on the unsexy list right now. It only helps a little because that density of bliss just grows tighter; folding into the beginnings of an orgasm.

 

Sitara hums knowingly and drums four fingers on your arm.

 

“Okay,” you mutter, feeling like you can’t handle this without buckling to your knees, “races, drinks and-” 

 

Pleasure reaches a point where your throat swells but Wrench turns it off just as your lips part; tongue swiping over your lower lip. From experience, he knows that’s a clear sign of how close you’d gotten to full on orgasming right there.

 

Dumb. Dumb. Dumb. 

 

A person can’t die from female blue balls… could they?

 

“So, what’s say we get this show on the road?” Marcus grins; showing his pearly whites in a big smile, tapping his heels in eagerness.

 

“Are… those pink shoelaces?” You ask him, swallowing a leftover shiver. 

 

Behind the blurry outline of Marcus - who’s currently knocking his dirt boots with the neon pink laces on the ground with a chuckle - you send a glare over his shoulder to Wrench as he slowly slides a hand out his front pocket. The technocrat asshole dips his head forward under the black hood; underscores alight on his display. A gust of wind shifts the heavy metal vest flaps loose around his hip, making him go from a ten on the hot scale to a fucking thirteen. Maybe forfeiting this game would be worth it just to avoid any further potential for embarrassment. Also the epic fuck that’ll happen… that would be worth it to... 

 

“What-what are we waiting for then? Let’s do this...” you mumble between the stuff Marcus is talking about - something about color coordination and no one having a sense of fashion in this ragtag group of theirs. He raises a brow at your weird behavior, but Sitara just laughs huskily. 

 

“Don’t mind her. She’s just got a hangover from last night,” Sitara excuses you even though you all were held up in HQ watching the new Jimmy Siska movie for the fourth time because Wrench and Marcus kept winning rock, paper, Spock.

 

“Com’on, Low,” Marcus says, sounding like he’s muffled against the ringing in your ears, “Hey - it’s gonna be fun. Might even get to see the Masked Cracker crash a hot rod, right?”

 

_ ‘Cum on, Low…’ _ Goddamnit. 

 

You’d sell your whole Black Flag collection just to come right now without also losing face in front of everyone, including Wrench. Only one teeny orgasm to make the rest of the evening tolerable. Is that so much to ask?

 

Wrench cackles, sounding like a bolt of lightning beneath the synthesizers, “If I crash it’s gonna be into a fiery ball of orgasmic bliss! Explosions. Bamboozles of fireworks. Epic…” he ends darkly. 

 

“Yea. Don’t you worry, Marcus. She’s  _ coming _ ,” Sitara insists, drawing out the word ‘coming’ to the point that you purse your lips and wince at the unsubtle jab. 

 

It’s obvious Sitara’s figured this out way longer than you realize. There’s an edge to her lips that says more than words ever could and while you’ve never been more embarrassed in your whole life, there’s also a part of you that’s grateful because if Sitara knows, she’ll cover for you.

 

Still… a hole to drop down into would not go unused at this point.

 

“Are we sure she’s okay?” Josh asks from inside the open passenger seat, Giga_Bite in his lap getting his pink belly rubbed with the back of his fingers. He turns to Wrench, who’s still pitching with his arms crossed; happy carets grinning. 

 

“Is she okay?”

 

“Dood, she’s more than okay. She’s perfect!” Wrench replies at a level meant for everyone within a one-mile radius. You can’t help but smile at the genuine compliment… even if he is the cause of today's stress.

 

Under your bangs, you throw him a glare, but he’s not looking at you anymore. Wrench is tugging at the ends of his vest, breathing heavily under his DedSec hoodie. Marcus shrugs and does a hop towards the truck. Sitara helps you to the vehicle, gets you up in the back of the truck bed next to a dirt bike while she half sits on the ATV during the drive down to the races. 

 

Four minutes in, at a traffic light, Wrench turns the vibrator back on. You make a sudden audible gasp at the sensation, blush and tuck your knees up against your chest. The backpack Wrench packed full of your stuff sits up against the back of your thighs, hiding the crotch of your underwear that this stupid dress won’t cover. 

 

Sitara clears her throat and slides down the edge of the polished side panel to crouch beside you.

 

“So,” she smiles empathetically, “is this an  _ until midnight thing _ you guys are doing or until one of you forfeits?”

 

Thanks to the wind wiping around your hot cheeks and the distraction the noisy roads of Frisco provide, you feel much less like throwing yourself out the back of the truck. Even if Sitara is looking way too pleased about your predicament, she’s also sympathetic.

 

“... it’s uh, I guess it’s an until midnight sorta thing,” you manage as the light turns green at the intersection - the truck accelerating hard enough to jerk you and the gadget nestled against tender flesh, “but I’m not doing so good… should have known he’d go all out.”

 

“Yeah, I was for sure thinking you were done for back there. I’m impressed,” Sitara smirks, “Wrench underestimates you sometimes. Besides, if anyone can handle his baggage, it’s you. Still, he could do with a good roughhousing.”

 

“Uh,” you almost laugh but can’t, “... he’s in for some hardcore retaliation after this. I’m-” a shiver and the vibration kicks up a notch, “... just… not used to this, even after everything.”

 

“Mmhmm,” Sitara hums; eyebrows up and expression just as cheeky as you know Wrench’s must be as he fiddles with the settings from the safety of the truck innards. They’re both enjoying this, just in different ways. 

 

You swallow a moan and thunk your head against the back window, closing your eyes from the world until Wrench shows mercy and kills the device once more. You’re getting to the point where the denied release only leaves you frustrated for a couple minutes until you’re relatively able-minded again. 

 

The skyline begins saturating with yellows and oranges - blended golds and pinks like a Bob Ross painting - until the bright colors eventually fade into blue tones. The smell of bonfires, gasoline and kicked up seaside hits your senses about a quarter mile from the dunes. Salt from the coastline stings your nostrils, but despite all the bullshit in the air, it’s refreshing. Leave it to a place like Frisco to smell so complicated.

 

This festival out by the water is an excuse for knuckleheads to drink and race - crash and burn - then drink some more and maybe hook up if they can play their cards right. The only thing that keeps you relatively sane as the events come and go is that no matter how tonight ends, you’re gonna get fucked stupid regardless.

 

_ ‘All dustheads to the middle platform!’ _ A sexy sounding announcer sings loudly across the shitty EDM. 

 

Over the top adrenaline junkies hoot and holler in the distance and a gang of dudes with letters painted on their backs push a foam-spiked ATV towards the action. You stare for a second before looking away, ignoring the castrophany of half-naked guys and testosterone for the glowing screen of your laptop. Thankfully, Wrench remembered to pack all your creature comforts in your backpack, so he does have at least one merciful bone in his body.

 

Four wheelers and dirt bikes hit the dunes behind you, kicking up waves of percolating granules and shallow pools of water to a display of sunset fireworks. All the while you’ve taken refuge in the back of the truck, spread out over your favorite blanket with a bag of chocolate pretzels and a warm beer. You had to position yourself just so that the device in your underwear doesn’t hit the hard bed and rattle its way out of obscurity. It’s a bit of an awkward position, but it works, and so far Wrench has been too busy doing whatever he’s been doing to send more than a few minute-long shocks to your cunt. 

 

That last earthquake was a doozy, but he sent it over twenty minutes ago. You’re starting to grow paranoid; knowing the next dose of fuck rattles is due any time now.

 

You spare a look out the back of the truck and wipe away sweat off your brow. It’s not hot. You’re just that nervous/horned up. 

 

Several feet away from the truck, Josh is mumbling. You can hear him reciting executables despite the music and Giga_Bite barking at the ruckus that passes by in waves of everything from the ever-popular scantily clad chick to the rare zentai-wearing road groupie. 

 

For a last minute race party, it’s brought a considerable crowd...

 

Josh hasn’t moved from the beach chair by the cooler and Marcus is in the dusty distance with a group of obscure DedSec members from way back before you even showed up. It looks like some of them are arguing over who gets which dirt bike for the next set of races. 

 

It’s a big party, and the scene stretches for a quarter mile, but thankfully, Marcus parked the truck on the outskirts, so the density of activity is a third of what it is towards the center field. The lack of hardcore foot traffic doesn’t really mean much though - not when there are thousands of people out here, and half of them just HAVE to stop to pet the puppy. If Josh wasn’t already smitten with his new girlfriend, and happily oblivious, you’d bet reliable data that he’d be swimming in pussy.

 

Another group of girls stops to ‘ooooh’ and ‘awe’ over Giga_Bite while Josh knocks his knees together and smiles. 

 

When the music finally switches to something bass heavy, you know Horatio has hacked his way into the DJ’s booth. It’s a small mercy.

 

You pause mid keystroke to whisper a soft ‘thank fuck’ before losing yourself in some rudimentary code on the ‘to do’ list that’s been gathering dust. 

 

Every minute or so you have to take a breath, stop and re-adjust yourself because even with the vibrator switched off, you’re slippery enough to glide down a gravel path. 

 

As you wiggle and lay one leg out in the truck bed, the device kicks on out of the blue. It’s pressed way up against your clit, clutched tightly between your inner thighs, perfectly position mid-movement that you’re unsurprised when your phone goes off at your hip. 

 

“Gawd,” you groan, clutching your laptop and fumbling for the bright phone that’s chiming endlessly with Wrench’s texts, “... this is the longest fucking night of my life.”

 

_ ‘Got a bit sidetracked with some extracurricular activities, i.e., slipping a little special sauce in the cannons.’ _

 

You really hope he’s talking about spiking the fireworks finale with extra gunpowder and not… whatever jealous bullshit your mind is started to piece together as the vibrator makes your fingers twitch over your touchscreen.

 

Tongue between your teeth, you send him a typo-filled mess in return -  _ ‘dn’t twist works around like that. Im dying over here.’ _

 

_ ‘Is that your way of saying you want me to fill your cannon with my special sauce? Because that’s rather juicy of you.’ _

 

Very unsubtly, you look out amongst the crowd, working your lower lip until the taste of bruised flesh hits your palate. There’s no sign of Wrench but you know he’s watching. You’d think having a mask with LED emoticons would make him easier to find in a place like this, but there’s too much light pollution and he’s practically incognito.

 

You phone dings again, and despite your best efforts, you gaze at his text.

 

_ ‘Trying to find your fetching man hunk?? Where’s Wrench (trademark), am I right?’ _

 

If he leaves it on at this setting much longer, you’ll cum and maybe - a voice too much like Wrench’s whispers - you’ll never stop. Coming now would be a sweet release, but you’re lousy at schooling your face when you climax so it’s either covering yourself up, in which case the vibrations would end, or riding it out until Wrench knows where that line is and cuts it off anyway.

 

Liquid fire - so sweet and thick - swirls behind your belly button. You pant through it, getting closer and closer. 

 

Pleasure runs up your stomach, curling your spine and with a stifled gasp you hide your face behind an ugly wrist brace and tremble over the vibrator, needing just a few moments more before-

 

“Fuck!” you hiss, hunching over your laptop with your face buried in your folded arms. The little device falls utterly silent; leaving you on edge to stare wide-eyed at your glowing keyboard. 

 

Slowly - oh, so slowly - another close call fades away into obscurity. 

 

An explosion of fireworks goes off and a large crowd further towards the water cheers like it’s the end of the world, but you remain bent over, panting with pent-up frustration. 

 

“... oh fuck,” you whimper bearing down against the truck bed, but it’s not enough, and one move to take care of yourself will just mean a smug Wrench leaping out of the shadows to claim his prize. At this point, would that be so bad, though?

 

Clutching the edges of your laptop, sparing a panicked glance at Josh - who thankfully has his headphones on - you consider throwing in the towel. The truck has tinted windows afterall… 

 

Theoretically, Wrench could fuck you six ways to Sunday and... considering the suspension on this road horse, anyone who wasn’t leaning against the vehicle would be none the wiser as to the public indecency happening inside. Well, probably none the wiser. 

 

Beside your hip, your phones chimes again. 

 

You look weakly at the bright screen - _ ‘OK. On a scale from terror alert green to apocalyptic red, how close was it THAT time????’ _

 

Would he follow you if you left your stuff in the truck bed and pulled yourself into the back seat? - Would he yank the side door open and crawl in with those mad-slashes bearing down on you and hike your dress up, the tear vibrator away and stick his naked face between your legs? He’d probably just shove his jeans down his hips - ignoring the button and zipper - and jerk your underwear to the side so he could feel just how wet and tight he’s gotten you. 

 

It’s official, you think, blowing strands of hair off your nose… you’ve hit an all-time low. 

 

The term cock hungry comes to mind, but it brings a slight smirk to your lips regardless of all the teasing, and it’d be a sorta win to see him follow after you like a starved dog. 

 

“Not sure you can handle the kind of shit I’m into,” Sitara’s voice pipes up over the party chatter.

 

Nervously, you stretch your legs out and cross them at the ankles as Sitara and her gaggle of male worshippers grow closer. The last thing you want is giving any of them an up-skirt in your current state. It feels like someone dumped eight ounces of lube between your legs…

 

Playing the role of the ‘party-casual,’ you reach for the beer beside you and take a warm swig, putting on a brave face. 

 

Sitara gives you a wink as she takes a beer from the cooler and ruffles Giga_Bite’s floppy ears before chatting up a dark-skinned guy with dreads for days and some old tattoo on his ribs. Josh has since left his gear on the chair, warning one of the guys about the overpowering smell of their exhaust, offering ways to improve their performance with a few easy tweaks. The guy looks around with furrowed brows, confused or annoyed at being cockblocked, but just as quickly realizes Josh knows his shit and it’s not long before he’s occupied with Josh’s free advice.

 

Honestly, it’s kind of cute. 

 

Once the guy realizes Josh is a hacker - one of the best in your opinion - two more random dudes join the conversation; friendly and throwing him a thousand questions a minute that Josh is all too happy to answer. After all that shit with Douche-ahn, people know what groups like DedSec did for them. 

 

Most people want at least one hacker friend, but that doesn’t mean that the guy with the mohawk who’s currently watching you from the small group, is hoping to get a hacker friend out of tonight too. He’s got that look about him that says he’s finally found something he wants to eat.

 

Ugh... 

 

Ignoring him and his oddly Wrench-like stance of chaotic energy - the studded belt and chucks don’t help - you squeeze your thighs together and gaze back at your laptop screen. The last thing you need is some punk guy getting the wrong idea… especially one that doesn’t look half bad.

 

“Hey. This is pretty crazy right?” 

 

You jerk, making the device slide up on your nerves and make a thin sound of withheld pleasure. How the fuck did he get so close without proper warning? 

 

He tips his beer at you and your laptop, smirking around a lip ring and a three-o-clock shadow, “You some sorta hacker chick - this like the nerd corner?”

 

An ATV or something with headlights passes by beside the truck, highlighting the nameless guys blue eyes. They’re just a vibrant as Wrench’s. You already don’t like him, even if he does realize he just made a mild insult without meaning to.

 

Mohawk licks the ring at the edge of his mouth and shifts his stance, “I mean, not that there's anything wrong with nerds, plus hot nerds are brains and beauty. You’re the hottest nerd I’ve ever seen.”

 

“I could be online shopping for high heels right now,” you counter, trying to act annoyed though secretly you’re soaking up the compliments. You’ve been denied Wrench, orgasms and the soft HQ couch the whole fucking day and it shows because usually you’d be unflattered by this sort of attention. 

 

Mr. Mohawk grins and licks the edge of his lip ring again, “That guy that knows his way around a diesel engine said you were part of DedSec. So, nerd, but a hot nerd.”

 

“That’s not as flattering as you think it is ya know.”

 

“Sorry… four-beer Shawn is bad at compliments,” he chuckles, laughing at himself. 

 

“I’m a two beer kinda person so-“

 

“Right?! Should have known there’d be at least one cool chick here.”

 

He’s not so bad… but he’s a pale dot compared to Wrench which, speaking of, should be wrestling this guy into the ground by now. Also, you’ve been hit on enough to know that at least half of everything out this dude’s mouth is meant to get him laid. 

 

You note him trying to stand at an angle so the open brown vest shows as much lean stomach as possible. He’s peacocking - is that the right term? 

 

With a frown, you eye him from top to bottom despite your reservations, and feel… not great about the warm flutter in your stomach. It’s not that you wanna bang him or anything, or maybe a little part of you does, but it’s definitely ninety-nine percent because he’s reminding you of the anarchist that’s having more fun teasing you than fucking you in a roomy backseat. 

 

“So…” he says again, and thankfully he sounds more like suppressed hormones and try-hard than honest sentiment, “is this really more fun than hitting the dunes?”

 

With a shoulder shrug - ignoring the slight shift of that hard little device in your underwear - you start typing in half-assed code and mutter, “Fun is subjective - I’m having the time of my fucking life...”

 

It comes off way less cold than you’d planned. It actually sounds nearly as husky as Sitara, but that’s got nothing to do with him and everything to do with all the sexual tension Wrench has caused.

 

You’re not surprised by his reply... 

 

“Yeah, but why hide in the back of a truck with a tug book when there are a hundred guys that’d show you how riding a road hog feels? I’ll make sure you don’t fuck up your other hand if you wanna go for a spin.”

 

Woah, talk about unsubtle, you think; eyeing your wrist brace. 

 

Internally, you’re having a moment of utter loathing, but a bite to your tongue stops you from telling the dude to ‘go fuck himself’ because deep down that sounds incredibly appealing over marinating in your own juices while Wrench cackles from the darkness. Maybe Wrench will get all caveman jealous from wherever he’s hiding and show up to throw Mr. Mohawk over a sand dune. If he does that, then you can use your saucy seductions on him and end this game several hours early. Wrench won’t be able to handle his jealous inclinations and his own roaring libido without cracking under pressure. 

 

“Hundreds of guys, huh?” You question with a leer, deciding that playing along with this will signal the Wrench better than shoving a hand up your own dress will, “Sounds like I’ve got pick of the litter. What makes you so special?”

 

You shouldn’t have said anything because now he’s smiling and leaning through your personal space; shoulders back in that macho way you find attractive on Wrench but annoying on other guys. 

 

Mohawk man doesn’t say a word, just sticks out a pierced tongue and curls it obscenely up and down; back and forth. 

 

Your cheeks blossom with heat just as the vibrator guns up, humming against the truck bed and with a hot face you lift your knees up like a monster’s about to bite your toes off and choke on your own moan.

 

“Been awhile since someone’s offered to eat that pussy, huh?” He grins, thinking your bodily reaction is a response to his tongue acrobatics. You’d laugh if you weren’t currently trying to breathe through the electric pleasure.

 

“... shit. L-look…” you try to backtrack as the vibrations increase and your lip starts to quiver, “I’ve got a-“ 

 

The word ‘boyfriend’ was on the tip of your tongue but a rumble of dirty thunder and sparklers - laced in belching diesel flames - drives through the sand out the corner of your eye and rides straight between you and Mr. Mohawk. 

 

Wrench plants a converse in the hard sand, forearms bouncing under the rumble of the dirt bike and glares pixel slashes at Mohawk. 

 

You startle - heart in your throat - legs shifting and cunt humming as your knees bang together. The sweet undulations against your cunt run deeper at the bare-chested sight of him. 

 

For the first time since everyone piled out of the van and Wrench gave your hair a ruffle of annoying affection, you take him all in. He’s wearing one of those old spiked shoulder braces, straps hugging across his chest and ribs. Either Wrench lost the other one while showing off on the bike or he was rocking the one for different reasons… it doesn’t really matter, and your mind is wandering haphazardly because he turned the dial up high on his phone and shows no intent to turn it off anytime soon. 

 

If he makes you orgasm in front of this guy, you’re gonna butt fuck him until he’s nothing but a man puddle on the floor. 

 

“Fuck me,” you mutter. 

 

Mohawk dude gives you a look outside your Wrench-blinders, but you can’t stop looking at the scattered iconography around Wrench’s chest; cut with dried muck and oil marks. The way his jeans hug just below his navel - spearing the scratch-star tattoos on his hips - makes you start scrambling on your knees for some reason. 

 

Your wrist aches the second you lean on it, but there’s short of a bullet wound that could cut through the overpowering bliss from the forgotten vibrator. 

 

“Wrench,” you exhale. 

 

He swings one leg over the dirt bike and throws it down in the sand like the fucker was on fire. 

 

Of all the things you thought were about to happen, fucking being at the top of that list because that made sense at the time, you hadn’t though Wrench would literally skip the pre-fight pissing contest and just shove Mr. Mohawk to the ground without so much as a sassy remark. 

 

Your eyes widen a fraction more; sweat beading on your brow. 

 

Wrench rolls his spiked wrists, bouncing on his sandy converses as the guy in the sand shakes off his surprise. 

 

That wild, chaotic energy you find yourself drawn to is on full display - tendons sticking out on the sides of his neck and knuckles. Veins bulge across his forearms as his fingers coil into fists. His stomach clenches with the ready bow of his spine and holy fuck… if you weren’t prepared for Wrench’s cock at this point, then you sure as shit are now. 

 

“Hold on-“ you shiver, having a moment of panic as it becomes clear that the device is on high and Wrench is about to be in no position to turn it down when it inevitably send you careening into an orgasm. 

 

“No-wait,” you try as Mohawk scrambles out of the sand, immediately throwing a fist. It skims Wrench’s neck before the techno-anarchist bangs his hard knuckles under the dude's chin like he's playing the main character in Street Fighter. 

 

“...the… remote…” you whimper; words falling on deaf ears. 

 

Duel bare skins, sticky with sand, ocean water spray and sweat bang into each other. Wrench gets the guy on the ground - one sharp elbow dug so hard against the dude's shoulder that the sand coated veins on his painted forearms and knuckles stand on end. 

 

Chest to chest, one untatted arm held under by an ink-splattered one and you can’t stand it anymore. Those mad slashes turn into double carets of doom as Wrench starts cackling like a broken robot, “Ya know, I’ve got juuuuust the thing for luddites like-“

 

“WRENCH!”

 

Pale blue eyes and exclamation marks turn on you. 

 

You shudder loudly, quivering on your hand and knees, holding your braced wrist to your lower stomach. A line of sweat runs down the edge of your nose, and you can feel it… an orgasm trying to strangle your cunt and all the connected muscles and nerves attached to it. 

 

“You two done having fun?” Sitara asks, standing on the other side of the scuffle with an annoyed expression and clears her throat. 

 

She motions from Wrench to you, and in a matter of seconds Wrench is straddling Mr. Mohawk and cursing up a storm as he drags his phone out of his pocket and slams his thumb down on the side button. 

 

Click-click-click-click… power off. 

 

The vibrations are gone, but the pleasure remains. It’s too late, you think. If you move even a centimeter, you’re gonna cum even without the buzzing stimulation. 

 

You bite your tongue to hold off from gushing like a dopey moron as Shane… or whoever… jerks his leg out and bangs the trucks drop hatch in his effort to get out from under Wrench.

 

Your insane boyfriend turns at the waist - torso denting with that long line of muscle from his ribs down around to the dip of his hips - and pulls himself up. The guy on the ground makes a ‘what the fuck’ gesture and some muffled verbiage of the same sentiment until Wrench turns on his heel and give him a stiff kick in the ribs. 

 

For some reason, the guy's friends, who are still crowding around Josh, just laugh instead of weighing in on the fight. Mohawk doesn’t act like he’s gonna make another move, only holds his stomach and threatens to puke. 

 

Giga_Bite is barking, and Sitara is saying something about the truck. 

 

Before you know it, Wrench is hauling you up under the arms and drags you - stiff and groaning - out of the truck bed. 

 

“No-no-no… not good,” he whines as if he’s the one in the mess you’re in and tosses you bodily over his bare shoulder with only the slightest hitch of breath. You let out a ‘whoosh’ of sound, claw at his naked back muscles and give your puppy and Josh a look of murder mixed with mild depression and a heaping dose of physical tension. 

 

Wrench’s loving touch pats your dress down over your ass, keeping your underwear from view as all those in attendance to your near-orgasm watch with confused expressions. Everyone except Sitara of course. For her, you send a shaky thumbs up.

 

A part of this feels like you won.

 

Her amused chuckle can be heard even over the bang of fireworks and the rev of off-road vehicles as the final race begins. Over the pound of blood in your ears, you can overhear her yelling to Wrench... something about needing to be extra careful with his ‘queen.’ It would have made you giggle, but you’re dazed and flustered and never before in your whole life have you been so close to the edge for so long. If you don’t get fucked dumb in the next ten seconds, you might literally die. 

 

Wrench shoulders you up so he can fumble with the truck door. The lifeless device shifts against your sopping cunt, bringing back the old tears from earlier. 

 

“...care-careful,” you sniffle lamely; fingers in Wrench’s naked back as your vision waters. It feels so intense - so good, but there’s that edge of unpleasantness that comes with being denied that starts to sour. 

 

Out one blurry eye, you see Mohawk Man dusting grit off his stomach. He looks bemused as well as upset while you’re lowered over the backseat, enveloped suddenly by a cocoon of darkness and the smell of new car aroma and Josh’s cinnamon cookies.

 

Wrench takes a step back, sending a pixel glare to the Shawn-Shane guy staring out of sight before he jumps up into the truck and crawls over your spayed legs. He slams the door shut behind him and turns shifting equal signs and ellipses over you. 

 

“You fucking asshole,” you slur, spreading your legs until the soft stale air hits the wetness between your thighs. 

 

Part of your cunt is stuck to the vibrator, which just makes the movement even more sensitive. It’s raw and overstimulated by a frightful margin, but you’re safe in the back seat like you wanted so you sigh in relief and lay your brace over your stomach; panting. 

 

“You didn’t combust back there did you?” He asks; burning questions marks on display. 

 

“I’d be way less pissed off right now if I had…”

 

“Perfect!” He grins with double carets and starts unbuttoning your dress from the bottom up until your quivering stomach is exposed. 

 

“Thank god…” you mumble, “I feel like I’m on fire.”

 

He unloops the last button between your breasts, lifts the bottom of your bra up and snaps it over your sternum obnoxiously as fresh air makes your nipple pull into tight beads. Blushing, you stare down your naked upper half to the black boy shorts stretching between your hip bones and marvel at how good he looks between your legs. 

 

Wrench leans back in the dark space, double nines on you until they switch to stars and, just as quickly, twin hearts. He’s taking too long. 

 

“... now,” you whine dramatically, tugging at his sandy thigh as you brace your chucks on the locked door behind him, “I concede… I can’t… just-just fuck me already. Please. This is like some next level torture shit...”

 

Wrench just swallows thickly. He’s speechless. Not even a leer of noise in response. 

 

The only sound besides the muffle of chaos and drunken shenanigans outside is the heavy static he breathes into the mask. You’ve actually rendered Wrench speechless. 

 

“Wrench,” you level with him, digging your short nails into his bare sides, “listen to me. You’re gonna fuck me now, okay?”

 

He nods stiffly.

 

“-and now means right fucking now.”

 

Those pixel hearts dip to mad slashes and then double x’s, and suddenly he’s leaning on an elbow, arm bent and cups a handful of bare tit; thumb and forefinger pinching and rolling the hard bud.

 

Sounding way too smug, Wrench finally finds his voice, “Ooh yeah? What about we fool around a little and see where things go?”

 

It’s way too much stimulation, the rough, gritty touch of his hot palm… trying to decipher his actual intentions and the perpetual horniness you’re soaked in. It’s just shy of supernova overload.  

 

“Wonder if you’ll go up like Ol’ Faithful if I hit that button again… I might wanna let that baby run all night with you stuck on my dick.” Despite the techno-tremble in his throat, he still sounds all too pleased with himself. Also, the filth that’s coming out of his mouth couldn’t be any hotter. 

 

In his dirty skin, just around the meat of his back, your fingers twitch and dig in; blood boiling.

 

Honestly, at this point, you could give less of a fuck about Wrench’s victory monologue even if it is arousing. 

 

With a smiling grimace, you start wrestling with his wrists. He’s all lean strength and pent-up energy, so you stand no chance but you maneuver his hands anyway which just proves he's talk - he doesn’t really wanna draw this out. 

 

You lift your hips just as he’s starting to chuckle and jerk his palm a good four inches south, laying it right over the bulge of the vibrator. His thumb catches the hem of your underwear, immediately fisting the soaked cotton around the hard device. 

 

“... shit,” he curses. 

 

Mismatched zeros alight on his display as he stares, curls his fingers in the damp fabric and peels it aside, exposing the mess he’s created. The vibrator slips and drops down to the car seat with a soft thud. It suddenly feels like someone’s opened a fresh wound, exposed a raw burn or blew fire on naked nerves. 

 

A single tear slips down the edge of your face as Wrench drags his middle finger up the line of puffy folds.

 

Too much. 

 

“Ah’n-no,” you whimper, jerking back until your head bumps the opposite door and Wrench is staring at you with exclamation marks and sad slashes.

 

“What happened?!”

 

“No fingers, for fuck's sake…” you gasp, reeling from the overstimulation. 

 

Anything but a tongue of a super lubed up dick is too much right now. Hell, even the idea of your thighs being pressed together makes your stomach twist. If Wrench has burned your nerves to death by the antics of tonight, you’ll ruin him twice as severe… maybe…

 

“I’m too sensitive for your sandpaper hands right now…”

 

“That little guy really did a number on you, didn’t it? Should we name him?”

 

“There’s only one  _ Pussy Destroyer _ in this truck.”

 

Happy carets light up the dark - oddly roomy - backseat as Wrench oh-so-slowly crawls down your lower half; muscles moving under the decorated skin, “Would some vanilla tongue action be soft enough for the fragile damsel? I had Markey Mark pick this lemon out of six floor-models just for the tinted windows.”

 

“It only gets harder to look him in the eyes you know,” you mumble; stuck between embarrassment and how good his tongue is gonna feel on your clit. 

 

Sometimes, only sometimes, you really hate how close Wrench and Marcus are. There’s very little they don’t know about one another thanks to Wrench’s penchant for oversharing. 

 

Wrench takes your silence as a ‘yes, please’ which he does often. 

 

He lifts his mask up over his face before you can beg him too and flicks his tongue back and forth like an evil genius. The similarities between the tongue lashing Mohawk had done and what Wrench is doing now is unnerving, but the way Wrench’s expression makes you feel is ten thousand times that of anything that other guy could have garnered. 

 

“Are-“ you pause, “are you sure… I’ve been… leaking all day…”

 

“Good.” 

 

Wrench smirks, lifting your leg up under your sweaty knee and adds, “I’m fucking starving.”

 

This was one of your fantasies - this was ‘exactly’ like one of your fantasies. Right down to the way he twists the soaked crotch of your underwear and shoves it into your inner thigh. He licks his lower lip and then Wrench is pushing your ass back towards to opposite side door and leaning in; mouth open with bleached locks sticking up under the mask cuff. 

 

“... fuck,” you whisper, shoving a knuckle between your teeth in preparation. 

 

His tongue is so soaked in spit it barely feels like a physical thing at all. Phantom hot, wet strokes glide over your clit, bringing back all those close calls until Wrench’s tongue is the only thing that exists. The bliss it ignites is so smooth and intense that more tears gum your lashes and a loud, shameless moan rips out your throat. 

 

Fingers trembling, you thread four through his loose strands, press them under the lip of his mask and hold on as he gives you a super careful kiss; lips just barely smacking your cunt. 

 

“Ok’okay,” you groan, nodding your chin as your lashes flutter, “... okay, fuck. Yes…”

 

Wrench sighs hot breath over your cunt and goes in deep; lips wrapped around your folds and sucks roughly. 

 

“F-f-fuuuuuck… fuck’you!” 

 

You whimper, sob and stuff your face into the back seat with a hand in your hair - pulling strands from their roots - and tug at his own while bolts of wet pleasure wrack your body. Every suck and hard lick, all within the molten confines of his mouth, hurts so good it’s blinding. 

 

Wrench breathes through his nose loudly, gets the flat of his tongue up under the hood of your clit, swirling until the puffy nerve is right there and starts thrashing it mercilessly. His thumb dents your stomach, knuckles making your inner thigh throb painfully, but none of that shit matters now. He could have a knife dug into your belly button and you’re pretty sure you’d barely blink.

 

His mouth seals around your cunt, forcing suction on as much tenderness as he can handle and rubs that wet muscle up and down… up and down… up and...

 

You cum silently with an open smile.

 

Frozen in climax, the only movement in your body is the fragile tremble in your limbs. For a few seconds, as your orgasm reaches its peak, you hiccup, sob and start mouthing senselessly. Your climax continues, seemingly unending.

 

Wrench sucks obscenely between your thighs, slurping your folds and tonguing your clit as if he doesn’t realize you’ve already finished… or that you’re still finishing or haven’t even started yet. The point between beginning, middle and end is one married feeling; an ouroboros of pleasure. 

 

It finally becomes too much, and your legs jump - hips bucking against his face. You whine, for him to stop or keep going, you’re not sure. 

 

Wrench slurps at your flesh and swallows audibly, talking against your clit, “Worth it?”

 

“... oh my’gawd,” you shiver; unable to form a more wordy expression of how fucking amazing you feel right now. It feels like you’re still orgasming, but the waves are finally letting up, slowly fading in intensity.

 

“Tasty cakes,” Wrench jokes, kissing your fold softly. His tongue pulls fluids from the crease of your inner thighs, groaning loudly, “... sooo worth the double blue balls you gave me.”

 

You exhale with a weak laugh; assailed by endorphins and the best feeling of your life as his teeth bite the meat of your inner thigh playfully.

 

“Dude, you think you had it bad… I think you killed off half of my brains cells.”

 

With a low growl that’s as serious as it is well-humored, he rises up, leans over you with the shadowed edges of a moist smirk and sends your heart beating against your breastbone. 

 

“Pff… you didn’t need those brain cells anyway.”

 

“Wrench... that was-“ you try, but he covers your mouth with a wet kiss. 

 

You groan as he shoves his tongue between your teeth and laps over the flat of your own until you can taste the slightly bitter flavor of yourself. The idea that this was all worth what your feeling now gets caught behind a greedy notion and with fingers fisting the short hair at the back of his head, you tear your lips away and utter a demand against his ear.

 

“Cock. Now.”

 

He pants against the side of your face, "Fuck, yeah. Finally...” and gulps a hurried ‘this is amazing’ while you push his hand away from his zipper because he’s not undoing the jeans fast enough. He’s too jerky and eager and overstimulated, and you’re about as delirious, but that orgasm that’s still weakening has given you a zen type of concentration. That mind of yours that is usually focused on code jargon and balancing Wrench’s mania with your own subdued manner is all about dick. Wrench dick. The idea of it is making your mouth water.

 

His jeans catch over the bulging erection, and Wrench hisses as you get the blood-filled cock stuck under the stretchy hem of his boxers; manhandling him briefly in your haste. 

 

“Dammit,” you grumble, shoving yourself closer and tear at the nylon cotton, finally grabbing the hot cock you’ve been aching for and fall back over the seat with what you hope is a cute, disheveled look and not the cock hungry mess you probably look like.

 

“You came right?!” Wrench asks; hard and gasping like a drowning fish as he follows your impatient tug and curses. 

 

With your healing hand dug in the top meat of his ass and an ankle scooped behind one of his knees, you nod and pull him in until the sticky head with the warm globed up piercing hits your slit. 

 

“Oh’fuck,” he exclaims, and then softer, “oh… Low...”

 

Wrench sighs - head hanging down - working his cock through puffy, swollen muscles with jerky short thrusts until he’s half stuffed inside your dripping cunt and… yeah… it’s good. It hurts, but it’s good too. 

 

You release his dick, wrap an arm around his spiked shoulder brace and grab onto the lip of steel, wrist brace planted around his hip, and tug him those last few inches in. He grunts loudly, anchoring himself on the front middle armrest and back seating before pulling away until his cockhead is stretching your opening… only to slide back in. The smack of skin sounds like a soaked clap. It feels just as tight as when he fucks you in the ass; unrelenting pressure and a bit of troubling sensation but so fucking good. 

 

It’s gonna hurt tomorrow… probably. 

 

Pain doesn’t matter right now though and, like he’s keeping you afloat in a monsoon, you cling to Wrench as he holds himself above you - tattooed arms spread apart - and works his cock through wet, sucking muscles. The truck rocks with his thrusts, but hopefully it’s subtle enough to not be apparent what’s happening inside. Then again... the whole being tossed in the backseat by Wrench sorta said all that needed to be said. 

 

Muffled explosions erupt outside the truck and Wrench’s arms start shaking. 

 

You can see the strain under his eyes despite the darkness - the edge of teeth bared from the dim torches beyond the tinted windows - and pull him into a soft hug. His hot breath wafts down the side of your face, drying the sweat there but heating your cheeks. He reeks of hops and the raw dust of dried salty sand, but beneath that is the musky Old Spice you know and love.

 

He’s trying to give you the hard fuck you demanded of him. Wrench wants to hold off until you’re half-conscious but you’ve already been there and come back, and now it’s his turn. 

 

“You feel so good,” you get out amid hard smacks of cock; moaning heavily against the deliciously sharp stabbing until his face turns and his teeth hook under your jaw.

 

“... hold me, please,” it’s a gentle request that makes him hitch emotionally.

 

It doesn’t need to be anything but slow and sweet if he wants it to be - needs it to be. 

 

Wrench immediately folds into you; one hand stuffed against the rumpled fabric at your spine and drags your messy bangs off your forehead, tipping your face back so he can kiss your bared throat with each careful thrust. 

 

It shouldn’t surprise you at this point, but every time he drops the Wrench persona and becomes the sensitive, loving guy beneath all the spikes and leather, you fall even more in love with him. He can be fire-hammers and gunpowder with everyone else, including you… but you’re the only one he wants to be Reginald with. 

 

He kisses your jaw, just beside your ear, and it’s like his thumb on the vibrator controls. Your body breaks out in a scratchy warmth, only burning hotter when he starts muttering your real name against your skin; grunting and groaning about how good your feel wrapped around him. Pleasure blooms, just as intense as when he’d had his tongue swirling you into oblivion. 

 

“Wrench,” you exhale; holding him close until his thrusts become nothing but shallow bucking motions, “... again-I’m gonna-“ 

 

It’s like before. No sound leaves your throat as you finish. 

 

Your orgasm comes on slow; sluggish. Contracting pleasure grips your stomach and it’s almost like cramping pain, but its pleasure, and it’s long drawn to the point that your ears pop and ring.

 

Wrench’s back tenses. 

 

His spine bends and those hard, lean arms around you tighten until his fingers are pulling hard at your hairline and his nose is bruising the tender skin between ear and neck. The hot touch of his tongue on your jugular feels like a burn as he cums in warm bursts inside you. 

 

Orgasm-tight muscles keep all that hot cum warming and filling the snug space around his cockhead, making a whole different sensation swell behind you navel and up into your chest. 

 

For a full minute, the two of you lay there in a sweaty, tangled mess as the sounds outside the truck start to filter back in; fireworks, shouting and Horatio’s DJing mixing with the hum of hundreds of engines.

 

“I’m trapped,” Wrench mumbles in half-drunken delirium, “... this is the... tightest,” a hard inhale and breathy chuckle, “I’ve ever gotten you. There SO should be an award for this!”

 

Your arms loosen from around him, one falling to the side and the other to hang in the leg room like it’s boneless. Pretty sure every muscle in your body is as soft as jello right now.

 

“Uhhh… you dead?” He asks, poking your nose.

 

“Braindead,” you reply, closing your eyes as the world spins slowly. 

 

You’re still on the comedown, and while you’re pretty sure Wrench had one hell of a time, you’re slightly annoyed he’s not as worthless as you are. Also, he knows it and pokes your nose again to prove it, knowing you can’t fight back. 

 

“Definitely need an award for this one,” he says with a chip on his shoulder; cock still hard inside.

 

“I want a ten-inch golden pecker inscribed with ‘The Wrench’ and something about - I dunno… ‘he’s a real hung mutha’fucka’ blah, blah, blah. You’re better with words.”

 

You groan. 

 

“As long as it’s something about Wrench Jr Jr's power being unmatched and his willpower unflappable,” he continues while combing your sweaty hair back, “also, don’t forget to add-“

 

“Shush, you’re gonna ruin my afterglow, doofus,” you mumble, smirking as he kisses your nose and forehead and then plants a wet one right on your parted lips; sound effects included. 

 

By the time you open your eyes, his dick is half hard, and the warm cum you’d been so full of has started leaking.

 

Wrench swallows the hiss you can still hear behind the anarchy tattoo and pulls out; eyes cast down on your well-abused cunt that probably looks like someone beat it with a paddleboard for several hours. How you’re gonna walk after this is up in the air. He’s gonna have to carry you bridal style for the rest of the night. 

 

“No way that apple pie is walking around anytime soon. I vote for the aftercare special,” he exclaims merrily while cleaning off his cock within the star-patterned boxers like he doesn’t mind crusty cum stains… which you know from experience he doesn’t. 

 

Before you can ask him what an ‘aftercare special’ consisted of, he pockets the forgotten vibrator, readjusts your underwear as carefully as if he were dismantling a bomb and kicks the truck door open. The mask gets tugged back in place; glitching into twin x’s. 

 

Cool, dusty air dries your damp skin, and even though it stings something fierce, you tug your knees up on reflex as the party outside leaks inside.  

 

No one’s in eyesight of the cracked truck door, but you feel a bit too exposed all the same. 

 

Wrench says something to someone - something you can’t decipher - but Marcus’ voice replies and your cheeks go red. 

 

Josh is there too, murmuring, and you’re sure as shit going to be a bit embarrassed by this in the morning. As it stands now, you’re still high from today, tonight and so far? - The best orgasm you’ve ever had. Even better than that time in the truck bed by the docks where he’d made you-

 

“Alright! As promised,” Wrench returns and hauls himself back into the truck, a dripping six-pack under one arm, backpack over a shoulder and your laptop and blanket held against his sweaty chest, “aftercare time. I read through a bunch of Josh’s emails one day and found a butt-load of saucy shit about BDSM rules and etiquette. He’s totally boning that Nancy Drew chick and it’s some primo shit!”

 

“Yeah, I totally called it that one night,” you reply with a wince and scoot back to give him some room, thighs falling open. A scream like you’re being murdered tears out of your throat as your insane boyfriend shoves an ice-cold beer against your ‘just-fucked’ cunt. 

 

“Mother-“ you screech and jerk away, “-fucker!!”

 

He laughs and you yelp again when he presses it back with double carets grinning at you. After the third clap of the cold glass, it starts to ease the pounding ache. Eventually, you shiver, sigh and hold it there with closed thighs, your grip on the bottleneck. 

 

“I hate you,” you grumble. 

 

“You love me,” he chimes, shifting you to the side. 

 

“I love you,” you correct as Wrench slides down the leg room and fumbles his way between your back and the opposite side door. He gently moves you between his legs, body heat bleeding off his bare chest. The ends of the blanket get tucked in around your knees, sealing you in a warm burrito with the beer cold against your sore cunt. 

 

Wrench lays your laptop over your thighs and pulls up some old bookmarked videos. A crappy fail video starts playing as he wedges a calf under your knees and strokes the messy hair off the side of your face.

 

You smile so wide you can feel your cheeks dimple.

 

“Next corporate holiday you can wrap my dick in a vibrating cock ring or something. Revenge! Served with special sauce…”

 

Wrench’s robotic laugh make you feel warm and cozy. His chest expands steadily against your spine. The dip between his shoulder and chest is bowed in the corner, perfect for you to lean into. 

 

“Hey,” he strokes a rough thumb down your cheek, “you gonna be okay?” Wrench’s voice drops into a static whisper as he asks, “... didn’t wreck you did I?”

 

You grin, shake your head in the warm, naked alcove of muscle and bone and kiss his pectoral. When you peer up at him, he’s pulled the mask back up over his head, watching you with the laptop glow highlighting the blue of his eyes. 

 

The sly little smile you give him makes one corner of his mouth turn up. “Don’t tell me the famous Pussy Destroyer is worried?” 

 

He blinks, an actual blush rising on his cheeks. 

 

Eventually, the smirk returns even though it parts in pleasure when you lean in to kiss his throat carefully. 

 

“... don’t worry, baby... I’ll tag you back,” you whisper darkly, kissing away the light sheen of sweat that breaks out on his skin. There is, after all, that box of sex paraphernalia under your bed in the Valley house with a strap on that has his name on it… 

 

One day you’ll bend him over and give him a taste of what he gave you tonight. The good, the bad… and the exquisite. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for all the asks I've gotten over the past month requesting more of these two. They are so much fun to write (I get to be really nerdy and filthy) and more is on the way - as well as some Josh/Nancy Drew and maybe a Sitara/Marcus thing... 
> 
> If you have the time, please let me know what you thought! I like comments.
> 
> As always, thank you to Darth Fucamus for looking over this for me prior to posting. <3
> 
>  
> 
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>  [CURIOUS Cat (for asks)](https://curiouscat.me/brimbrimbrimbrim)   
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